Murder Abbey

Chapter 1: The Arrival

It was a rainy day and the night was turbulent. Downton was surrounded by a big black cloak, only to be interrupted by thunder, which occasionally illuminated the Abbey and its exterior. Like the storm, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson arrived at Downton in a commotion to cause themselves one. Someone had been murdered and they were here to find out the how, the who and the why and they had just entered the where. They were just standing in the salon, admiring Downton and its splendor.

"It's a nice place, isn't it?" commented John, who could faintly listen to the people chatting in another room close by.

"Yes. It's a shame it's tainted with murder." replied Sherlock. "Besides, it's no Baker Street."

"Gentleman, if you could please join everyone in the drawing room. Lord Grantham awaits you". The voice of Mr Carson resonated and his words wear clear and deep and with his hand pointed at a door, which both guests figured was the door to the drawing room.

As they entered they saw the Crawley family dispersed around the room, the women sitting and chatting and the men standing and drinking. They were all wearing their white ties, something that made John feel embarrassed since both of them were wearing suits. Sherlock's only reaction to the clothing only made him think of how the family carefully followed the aristocrat manners. Everyone was staring at them, a couple of two londoners which no one knew and clearly din't fit in the room. The eldest man of the family was headed in their directions so as to present himself.

"You must be Mr Holmes and Mr Watson. I am the Earl of Grantham and this is my family. How was your trip? I'm terribly sorry about this weather."

"Why should you? It's not like you control it!" exclaimed Sherlock, puzzled by his remark, puzzling the earl now himself.

"The trip was fine, your Lordship" interrupted John. The first thing Sherlock said was already embarrassing him, even more than their clothes.

"Is there anything we can do for you? Have you eaten?"

"Yes, it's alright, we-" John is interrupted by Sherlock.

"We're not here to eat, thank you. We're here to solve a murder." At the word "murder" most of the family seemed to remember the traumatic incident. "Isn't that why we're here? I suggest we get started right away."

"If you wish so." answered Lord Grantham, still puzzled.

"Wouldn't you rather settle in first?" said one of the women seated, clearly the Lord's wife.

"No, we're fine. Thank you" replied Sherlock in a rather stiff way. John was surprised by Sherlock's attitudes even though he was acting in his normal behavior.

Sherlock took out a notepad and a pen. His questioning of the murder was about to begin. John was hoping for the best.

"Can you tell me what you know about the murder?" asked Sherlock to all the people present as if he was holding a collective interrogation. The word "murder" once again alerted the family but much less than before.

"Her name was Alice West. She had been a housemaid at Downton for two years. She seemed like a quiet and reserved girl, not the kind to make trouble really. She was found in her room. We sent for the doctor but there was nothing we could do. She had been hit several times." Lord Grantham took a breath, clearly shaken from what had happened. One of his employees had been killed and he wandered if he could have prevented it.

"So she was shot?" enquired John. Lord Grantham answered affirmatively. "Did you find the weapon?"

"No. We searched the house but we didn't find anything."

"Has the crime scene been cleared?" asked Sherlock.

"Yes. I've told the staff to clear and clean the room when the police was done collecting the evidence over two weeks ago. They found nothing unfortunately." Mrs Crawley spoke assertively but in pity.

"Is there anything left of her belongings?"

"Yes. Somethings are still upstairs, her family has not yet taken them."

"I'll need to see them right away in the morning as well as her room."

"There is one thing. She asked me once permission to head into town one day, claiming she was visiting a friend. Since she had been a good servant I allowed it." This woman in particular spoke with even more assertiveness than the woman who was clearly her mother, except she didn't have that sweetness her mother had.

"And you are..." asked Sherlock as he wrote down in his notepad.

"Mary Crawley."

"You must be her sister then." said Sherlock looking at the one sitting next to her.

"I'm Edith."

There was a brief silence as Sherlock was writing, with everyone still staring at the tall stranger. John intervened.

"Is there anything you know more about Miss West? This "friend" perhaps."

"Well we didn't really knew her so you'll have to ask the staff about her more personal life." responded Lady Grantham. "We just know her family is from Ripon."

"Maybe you could take them downstairs tomorrow, Carson, so they could talk to the staff."

"Yes, my Lord" replied Carson.

"Now, I understand why he is here" said the Dowager looking at Sherlock "but I don't understand what your job is" she said as she looked at John.

"Well, I'm a doctor." answered John.

"Then you're not of much use, are you? The victim's already dead."

John Watson was silent at this remark, not sure how to answered the elderly woman.

"He's my colleague. He helps me with the investigation." said Sherlock, quickly defending his dear friend.

"Well it's getting late and I should be on my way." stated the Dowager.

"Mama, why don't you stay for the night. The weather is terrible. Leave in the morning instead." said Lord Grantham.

"There is absolutely no way that I am staying in this murderous house. I could be next! Carson, bring the car around."

The Dowager said goodbye to her family and left. Her "murderous house" remark wasn't well accepted by any of her relatives. Soon after, the two guests were directed to their rooms where they would sleep while staying at Downton.

"Sherlock, who do you think killed the housemaid? Do you think it was any of them?" inquired John before entering his room.

"No. They're too aristocrat to get their hands dirty."

"Do you think it was any of the staff then?"

"Possibly. I guess we'll have to find out to tomorrow. Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight."

John was lying in bed with the rain still falling outside. In his head the words "murderous house" kept sounding, keeping him up. How the words of an old widowed woman became the reason for his sleepless state he didn't know. He did question, however, how many people had died in the very house he was sleeping in. Were there more victims than Alice West? For a while he lingered with this thought until he slowly fell asleep in the same bed were a Turkish ambassador once slept into the afterlife.